"I CANNOT FACE YOU!"

NZ Truth, Issue 1142, 20 October 1927, Page 6

"I CANNOT FACE YOU!"

Unsolved Riddle of Comerford's Last Letter

(From "N.Z. Truth's" Special Christchurch Representative.) Lionel Vivian Comerford, Christchurch accountant, secretary and sportsman, is no more. The warrant issued for his arrest has been cancelled by magisterial assent.

NORMALLY, no more should be said about the tragic affair involving one of the popular citizens of Christchurch, but — there are features hitherto undisclosed, which afford material for the tongue of conjecture. Throughout the whole trouble — his disappearance, the finding of his coat and hat and, some days later, his body still immaculately attired,, even to the gold-chained pince nez, a studied hushhush was preserved by the police and authorities generally. Although there were good grounds for, at least, the supposition that he might have wandered further afield, the police were not of the mind to permit a. p r e a 8 •feeler'' to meet this probability. Now, of course, as things turned out, the police can say. with some bravado: "We knew all the time that he must be drowned." But Comerford, who had been ln the employ of Ward's brewery Company for a long time, left a letter to "Dear Alick" Duncan, and what that letter contained has been as guarded as the proverbial secrets of State. The inquest was one of those sudden affairs switched on at short notice the very morning after the discovery of the body and before most of the local press reporters were awake. The last letter to Duncan was made the subject of whispered consultations between Detective Thomas, in charge of the investigations, and the coroner, It was soon over. Suicide was the very obvious finding and the little story underlying the tragedy has gone unsaid by the local. press. Member of the Federal Club, keen sporting man, undemonstrative and well-liked, Comerford, tall and distinguished, moved in what are generally known as the best circles. He had a delightful home in the city was married with a wife and two fine children. Admittedly there were defalcations at the brewery concern and rumor has not hesitated to mention big figures, but the fact remains that the warrant for Comerford's apprehension only concerned £300 or so.

It is only one of the tragic little might-have-beens of life to reflect that Comerford's many friends would gladly have rallied round him if he found himself impecuniously situated. And yet the element of mystery comes very much into the picture in Comerford's letter to Duncan. He refers to certain persons who had "let me down." Who were they? He speaks almost hopefully in that letter- — the contents of which are known exclusively by "N.Z. Truth" — of rehabilitating himself if these certain people, unmentioned, but said to be well-known, had not let him down. "I could never face you again," he wrote just prior to his last great voyage. But most mysterious of all was his direct appeal for a chance to "get out of the country decently." Did he intend tc leave New Zealand? Very plainly, he must have contemplated that possibility at some period, and, so far as police reticence was concerned, he would have had a fair opportunity. But it can be imagined that after several days mooching about surreptit i o u s 1 y, perhaps hungry, his mind took a distorted view oi things ih the immediate past and— robbing him of his powers of reason as suicide usually indicates — led him tc plunge into the water and end it all. Apparently he had made no preparation for his end, not even deeming it advisable to remove his glasses. It was known that Comerford had certain interests that were more-or-less a drain on his resources. Just how far this element dominated his tragic end cannot be estimated, nor is it of any consequence now, but there is definite room for the speculation that trotting horses and their maintenance played a big part in his life — and death. The big book of things unsolved must absorb the problem of who were the unnamed persons supposed to have let him down and how Comerford came to commit suicide after taking the first step towards getting out of the country.

TOO GOOD

"VOU know, McGregor is too good a name to figure in a police court like this," said Magistrate Mosley, of Christchurch, when a rather finelooking, robust man of that name came before him on a charge of theft. "I know that, sir," replied prisoner. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself . . ." McGregor looked as though he was, but when the S.M. found out that the Scot was already serving a sentence he did not hesitate to sentence him to one month's imprisonment with hard labor. "Thank you, sir," answered McGregor politely.